


hungry for you

by humanveil



Series: no sacrifice without blood [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, F/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:41:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27009025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humanveil/pseuds/humanveil
Summary: His hand on her neck is deathly-white and cool to touch. In the mirror, it doesn’t appear at all.
Relationships: Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy
Series: no sacrifice without blood [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1972747
Comments: 17
Kudos: 53
Collections: Daily Deviant





	hungry for you

**Author's Note:**

> for [daily deviant’s](https://daily-deviant.dreamwidth.org/39387.html) october theme ‘mirrors.’ also includes semi-public sex and a vampire/human relationship. 
> 
> set in some first war au where lucius is a vampire who runs in death eater circles. while writing this my brain kept trying to apply logic to vampires, to which my good friend [ly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/murdergatsby) told me, “they are already the living dead, why must you BRING SCIENCE INTO THIS,” and so that is my answer to any questions you might have. as i told them, i settled on “mushing together my limited knowledge of vampire lore to write the sexiest version,” and so here we are. 
> 
> i wrote this before i decided to make the series, so it can definitely be read on its own! hope you like it ❤︎

Lucius is already there when she slips inside, hip pressed to the vanity as he leans, waiting. A familiar smirk sits on his face, and Narcissa swallows around the jolt it sends up her spine. They have done this a few times, now, and each time he grows a little smugger, as if bedding her is an accomplishment few men can achieve. It’s partly true, of course: She doesn’t go to bed with just anyone, and she certainly isn’t known for liaisons in her sister’s bathroom, of all places, but she has learnt, in their brief acquaintance, just how persuasive Lucius can be. It had only taken a few choice words and a lingering touch or two to get her here.

“Finally,” he drawls, as he steps away from the vanity. His arm is out-stretched, reaching already. “I was beginning to wonder where you were.” 

Narcissa offers an apologetic smile. “Sorry,” she tells him. “My mother caught me in the hall.”

She’d wanted to discuss her _options_ , is what Narcissa doesn’t say. It doesn’t matter; she and Lucius are hardly close enough that he needs to know about her mother’s incessant match-making. Lucius’ smirk softens as he hums, the sound more appreciative than anything else as his hand slides along her hip, his arm winding around her waist. He pulls her forward and she goes easily, head tilting back to accept the kiss he places on her mouth, the press of his lips too gentle to ease the ache at her core. He’s cold to touch—always cold to touch. (Cold-blooded, he’d joked, the first time they’d done this. He’d followed it with a hand on her thigh, his lips pressed to her neck, the touch of teeth and tongue dispelling all coherent thought.) Her back arches, her chest pressed to his torso, her hand curled around his bicep. When they pull apart, he’s smirking again.

“Eager, are we?” Lucius asks. His voice is low, almost hoarse. His right hand reaches for her throat—laid bare by the cut of her dress—and Narcissa lets slip a soft exhale as his thumb trails over her collarbone, featherlight. “What are we to do about that?”

He kisses her before she can respond, harsher this time. _Demanding._ Outside, muffled laughter filters through the door, a group of guests passing; Bellatrix’s gathering is still in full-swing, the possibility of being caught a real threat. The thought makes Narcissa’s abdomen clench with adrenalin, anticipation. _Arousal._

Lucius nudges her towards the wall, only pulling away to grab the ends of her dress, her skirts bunched up around her waist. He cups her between her thighs, the dull pressure against her cunt making Narcissa squirm. “I promised your father I’d join him for an apéritif,” he tells her. “We wouldn’t want to keep him waiting, hm?”

She doesn’t know if he’s lying, can’t say if he’s only made it up to fill her head with the image of him sharing a drink with her father, the taste of her still stuck on his tongue, signs of her still lingering on his skin. Either way, Narcissa feels her breath quicken, her legs parting to give him easy access.

She shuts her eyes as he pulls aside her knickers, the fabric already damp with her arousal, and groans at the first touch of his hand against her cunt. His mouth returns to her neck (always her neck, as if compelled) and the vibration of his chuckle sends another jolt through her. “Thinking of me?” he asks. It comes out almost as if it were a taunt, the question accompanied by two fingers slipping inside of her with ease.

“ _Yes_ ,” Narcissa says, part-admission, part-moan. She bites her lip as he fucks her as deeply as he can, evidence of her desire spilling into his hand.

There was little else _to_ think about, she wants to tell him. Her sister’s galas are always a bore, at least for her. No one ever tells her anything; her role as the baby sister perpetual, no matter that she was older than some of those with Marks on their arms. She’s sure Bellatrix only invites her because it’s obligatory. Because it’s _beneficial_. Her role, Narcissa knows, is simple: Look pretty, act appropriately, take the brunt of their mother’s attention. She’s done it for years.

It is, perhaps, part of the reason she finds her current situation so exhilarating.

“Please,” she says, as Lucius slides a thumb through the slick to rub at her clit. He pinches her, only lightly, and she arches against it, gasping when he shifts so his cock presses at her hip.

“Please _what_?”

She exhales slowly, opens her eyes to catch a glimpse of him. He’s watching her expectantly, blond hair slightly disarrayed, pale eyes alight with an affectionate glint. “I want—” she starts. “I _need_ _—_ ”

Her voice catches as Lucius continues to stroke her cunt, his touch torturously languid, as if time wasn’t an issue at all. Narcissa knows he enjoys it. That he finds her lack of propriety arousing. That it makes him feel _powerful_ to know he can make her fall apart in his arms. She’d berate him for it if the sentiment wasn’t shared.

“Hm?” Lucius prompts. He dips his head and places kisses along her cleavage, the way his face rubs against her breasts reminding Narcissa of why she’d chosen this dress in particular: low-cut, fitted waist, skirts that expand at the hip. Her mother had likened her to a Knockturn Alley whore when she’d first seen the gown; little did she know it was rather the _point._

“I need you to fuck me,” Narcissa says, finally, and swallows against the affection that tightens her chest when Lucius smiles.

He straightens up, steps back, one hand reaching for the clasp of his robe as the other urges her toward the vanity. Narcissa obliges, bending against the sink, her forehead resting against one arm as she holds her skirts with the other, her body running hot with anticipation as she listens to Lucius remove his clothing.

The first time they’d done this, he’d invited her back to his Manor (age-old, acquired by a great-great-great ancestor following the death of a dear friend, or so Lucius had said). He’d been a complete gentleman, careful and considerate until he’d realised she liked it when he _wasn’t._ Ever since, she’s noticed the way he tests his luck, his true colours shining through the chivalrous façade as each liaison increases in risk. It only makes her wonder what’s in store for her next.

She feels rather than sees him come up behind her. The scratch of fabric at her thighs is all the warning she gets, the sensation quickly followed by Lucius’ cock pressing into her with one quick thrust, the stretch stealing her breath as blood pounds in her ears. She’s wet enough that it’s easy, the slick sound of her cunt filling the bathroom as he fucks her from behind, a slew of filth cooed in his polished tone, the words bringing her embarrassingly close to orgasm. He seems to read it on her; Narcissa groans as he reaches around, fingers finding her clit once more, the touch in tandem with his thrusts. 

She can only handle it for so long. Her eyes squeeze shut, mouth open against her arm as pleasure lights every nerve in her body. When she does come, it’s with an arch of her back, eyes shooting open as she shakes with the sensation. Like that, she finally catches a sight of herself in the mirror.

What greets her makes a gasp hitch in her throat. It’s not her dishevelled state that makes her still, but the missing space where Lucius should be. Though she can feel him against her body— _knows_ he’s there from the pressure, from the feel of him _inside_ of her—he doesn’t appear in the mirror. There is only the bathroom behind her, the Lestranges’ copper-black walls.

It’s as if she were there alone.

Narcissa looks over her shoulder as realisation hits, mouth parted in shock as oddities from their past encounters come together to finally make sense. She wants to ask, feels a need to say something— _anything_ _—_ but her breath is still heavy, her body still trembling with the aftershocks of her orgasm. What’s more, she can’t think of a single thing to say.

Lucius meets her eye and curls his lip, the tip of a sharp, white fang exposed. “Problem?” he asks her, hands still planted on her hips. He punctuates the question by rocking against her, his cock dragging against the spot that makes her shudder, and Narcissa shakes her head.

“No,” she answers, half-surprised to discover she actually means it. She stares at him a moment longer before returning to the mirror, another _no_ whispered as Lucius picks up his pace, his body leaning over hers to press a kiss to the back of her neck.

“Don’t worry,” he tells her, voice thick with his own pleasure, “I won’t bite.”

It sends a shiver down her spine. Narcissa doesn’t respond, just watches, transfixed, her gaze locked on the mirror, on her own reflection, on the way her body rocks with Lucius’ rhythm. It’s inexplicably arousing, the sight. The image that fills her head: Lucius with his face buried against her neck, pale lips stained red, the pain of a bite eased by his kiss. She almost feels fifteen again, giggling with her classmates as they joked about vampire sex, their professor struggling to keep them in check. _Merlin_ , she thinks. _How did I end up here?_

(Her mother was definitely going to kill her.)

Lucius draws her from thought by pinching her clit again, her gasp met with a breathy laugh, as if he wants to chuckle but can’t in his current state. “Unless you want me to,” he adds, voice right at her ear, the whisper filled with wry amusement. He follows it by taking her earlobe between his teeth, the gentle bite going straight to her cunt. Narcissa can feel her second orgasm building already, the pressure in her abdomen familiar, if not-quite expected.

She swears, gaze fixed on the mirror until she can no longer hold her head upright. Her cheek drops to her arm as Lucius straightens, his rhythm slipping. Narcissa knows he’s nearing his own orgasm, can tell by the way he starts to swear, words shortened to incoherent grunts as he fucks her hard. She pushes back against him, her hand reaching to interlock with his at her cunt, the added sensation leaving her own movements sloppy. _Desperate._

She comes again as Lucius does, her cunt clenching around him as he spills inside of her, his grip on her hip so strong she’s sure she’ll be bruised later. In the moment, she doesn’t care: There’s only the two of them, only their joint pleasure, the euphoria he stirs in her. 

Narcissa slumps against the sink once the adrenaline fades, a breathless smile gracing her features when Lucius’ arms are there to catch her. He eases her into a standing position and kisses her when she turns, head tilted, expectant. Without the urgency, it’s almost _tender._

“That was unexpected,” Narcissa tells him after, one hand pressed to his chest. 

Lucius offers an ambiguous hum. “You can’t tell anyone,” he answers, a tenseness to it. He looks at her as he says it, a hand reaching to cover Narcissa’s, and Narcissa nods instinctively.

She understands. Vampires amongst the group outside are likened to werewolves and beasts, not the respectable façade Lucius has put in place. If they were to discover the truth… The thought fills her with a multitude of questions, a deep desire to know just _what_ everyone else is aware of. It’s that which compels her to agree, the thought of sharing a secret thrilling. “You have my word,” she says.

Besides, she thinks, later. It was just like Mother said: Only fools reveal their best hand.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Leave these others and come to me. My arms are hungry for you._  
>  — Bram Stoker, **Dracula.**
> 
> catch me at [tumblr](http://sistersblack.tumblr.com/) ♡


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